


Pretty Reckless

by Incog_Ninja



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Faith Lehane - Fandom, Supernatural, eliza dushku - Fandom
Genre: Anal Fingering, Ass Play, Beards (Facial Hair), Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dean might have a hair fetish, Dean's a charmer, Doggy Style, Eliza has a secret, Eliza is a female Dean, F/M, Hair-pulling, Have you seen Eliza Dushku's hair?, Lap Sitting, Light Angst, Magical Bond, Marathon Sex, Prostate Massage, Ride 'em Cowgirl, Rough Sex, Slight Food Kink, The Jockey is the best sexual position, This might get complicated, Unsafe Sex, i know i do, magical sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Incog_Ninja
Summary: Dean stumbles upon another hunter so much like himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

This is set in 10.  

Disclaimer: All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t really mess up, but she’d gotten a little reckless lately. Maybe she was bored. Maybe she let her guard down, hoping against hope that something new or interesting would happen. But the last thing she had hoped for was to get arrested. Getting arrested wasn’t new or interesting.

“Eliza Cornell,” the guard who’d been reasonably pleasant earlier while booking her called her name as his keys clanked in the hole to unlock her cell. “You got a visitor.”

“A visitor.”  Her voice sounded as world-weary as she felt. She looked passively at the guard as he waved her toward the open entrance, nodding. “Federal agent,” he replied without looking her in the eye.

Eliza’s eyebrows jumped and she hummed with mild interest. She stood and crossed the threshold of the cell, waited for the guard to close the door behind her, then followed him down the hall to the interrogation room. “Say what they wanted?” Eliza asked, not exactly expecting the guard to answer. “Nope,” he answered, stopping in front of a door, opening it, and waving her inside.

She saw him from the back at first – six feet plus of charged muscle, liquidly encased in a dark, cut-rate suit, tense and raw; high and tight, soft brown hair; and that infamous vibe of impulsiveness. If she didn’t know better-

“Agent Bonham,” the guard requested the agent’s attention, and he slowly turned to face them. Eliza’s heart skipped a beat. “Eliza Cornell,” the guard announced. Eliza took slow pull of oxygen through her nose and pushed it just as slowly out her barely pursed lips.

Dean Winchester.

Eliza’d never met Dean, but his reputation and his looks preceded him. All hunters knew who the Winchesters were. Sam, the younger brother, dead five times at least, possessed by Lucifer among other things; Dean, the older brother, possessed and dead – so she thought; John Winchester, dead; Mary Winchester, also dead. Eliza really only ever heard of Sam as the one dying and coming back all the time. But you never really knew in their line of work.

“Ms. Cornell.” He nodded, and the guard ducked out of the room.

Eliza stood firmly in place, her hands cuffed in front of her. Dean tipped his chin and looked down at her from across the table. Red lips, red tank top, dark denim jacket, snug-in-all-the-right-places cargo pants, work boots – the uniform of a hunter with a real nice twist. She was small, like Jo, but Dean wasn’t under the impression that this woman was anything but lethal if her rap sheet was to be believed. He had a sudden urge to thread his fingers through her wild hair. He had no idea how she hunted successfully with all that hair flying around, it had to be a disadvantage, but he couldn’t wait to see it.

“Just wanna ask you a few questions.” Dean rounded the table, his eyes continuing to roam her body. She smiled with the kind of knowing that told him she was used to being eyed so thoroughly and liked it.

Her skin tingled in the way that it did when she came upon a vamp nest or knew she was being watched. She was used to being watched, but this time was different. The tingle was like an internal alarm that screamed predator.

Dean stopped about four feet short of her toe line, pulled out a chair, and gestured with a big, calloused hand for her to have a seat. “Really, just a few questions.” His voice was as rough as she imagined it would be, just as deep. It was also soothing, like the monster from her closet was comforting her.

She glanced at the proffered seat but stood still then slipped her eyes back to his face. “Winchester,” she said, like it was an accusation, her smoky, seductive tone betraying her.

Dean paused and narrowed his eyes, then chuckled until his face split with a blinding grin. He let go of the chair before settling back against the table, folding his arms across his broad chest. He hung his head but held her with his eyes. “You got me.”

“Thought you were dead,” she said, attempting to maintain as much indifference in the quality of her voice as possible. Her voice was like the honey he saw in her eyes only sweeter. Dean couldn’t stop licking his lips.

He blinked lazily and shrugged a shoulder. “Not right now.” They held each other’s gaze in silence for a few beats.

“Why are you here?” she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and shifting her weight for a stance with better leverage because one can ever be too careful and her hands were still cuffed. She had no idea what he wanted with her and no hope to beat him and/or whatever potentially possessed his body at any game, but she’d damn well go down with a fight if she had to.

“Same reason you are – shapeshifter,” he answered with a face like it was obvious. “And since you got yourself arrested, I thought you might’ve come close to something, might wanna tell me about it.”

It was her turn to grin and roll her eyes. She shook her head. He really thought she was going to spill it all and let him walk out the door, leaving her there to rot. “That depends,” she said.

“On what, exactly?” he asked, his eyes sparkling and dark.

She lifted her cuffed wrists and arched a brow.

Dean tilted his head and smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I dunno, I think I like you like that.” He really did like her like that; he also liked the way her warm eyes flamed hot at the insinuation.

Eliza scoffed. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but no reason for us to stay here and talk about it.” She stared him down. “Get me outta here.”

Dean’s perpetual Blue Steel washed over her for a moment until he pushed away from the desk, crossed the room, and banged on the door for the guard. When he turned to face her again, he raked his eyes over her one more time.

It occurred to her then that this just might be exactly what she’d hoped for.

 

* * *

 

They grabbed drive-thru and Eliza caught Dean up on the shifter being a possible hybrid, and most definitely in the wind. They decided to head back to Lebanon to research it further. During the hour and forty-five-minute car ride from Kearney, Nebraska, Dean gave Eliza a brief run-down of his most recent death and the acquisition of the Men of Letters bunker and they argued over music. When they finally reached their destination, it was mostly dark and quiet inside.

“Damn,” she breathed. She was afraid to speak too loudly. Dean wasn’t the most forthcoming with information, so the bunker stunned her slightly. It was beautiful. “This place is like a mausoleum.”

Dean didn’t say much in return, except to toss, “whiskey?” over his shoulder. He draped his fed jacket over the back of a chair and finished yanking his tie all the way out of his collar, as he made a beeline to a decanter of amber liquid. 

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, trailing behind him, running her fingers over the rich mahogany of one long table, savoring the way the low, warm light accentuated the grain.

As Dean clanked around to find two clean glasses to fill, Eliza removed her own jacket and stretched. “Sammy’s off somewhere,” Dean made a gesture with his hands that translated to, ‘I’ll tell you some things, but I’m not telling you that.’

Eliza accepted the glass when Dean handed it over to her. They toasted, each with a different phrase, and nodded before taking equally large draws of whiskey, keeping their eyes on each other over the rims of their glasses. 

Once her glass was drained, Eliza set it aside. “So,” she turned her gaze back to Dean’s. “Are we gonna fuck?” 

Dean’s eyes burned into hers as he savored the amber liquid and hefted the weight of her words. He always tried to be careful to not mix business with pleasure, but these days he didn’t give a shit. The mark buzzed in his ears and his mind and his veins, and Sam wasn’t there to stop him. He wouldn’t hurt this girl, not really, but a little necessary roughness could go a long way to quieting his insides; and she seemed more than up for the challenge.

Eliza cocked her head with a sly smile, swaying from side-to-side to the ever-present music that played in her head, watching the warring emotions twist his pretty face in the loveliest ways. “Dean?” she was growing impatient and her clothes were itchy. It had been hours since her fight with the shifter, but the standard-issue post-battle sex buzz was still lingering.

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and gently set his glass on the bar cart next to hers. That gleam and that sparkle played at the edges of the predominate darkness in his eyes and it made her shiver internally. He pursed his lips and nodded as he crouched and dug through the storage of the cart. When he popped to his full height, he was brandishing a full, unopened bottle of Maker’s Mark. He studied it closely then turned his forceful gaze back to hers. “Let’s go,” he nodded and headed toward the arched doorway then down a hall.

“Nice,” Eliza muttered, following Dean to his room. With his white button-down, open at the collar and rumpled, still tucked into gray flannel pants and a belt, and hair a mess, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him. It had been way too long since she’d had access to a man like Dean Winchester for more than a smash and grab in a back alley, and she was going to revel in it.

Dean flung the door open and waltzed inside. “It ain’t much,” he said, cracking the Maker’s red wax seal. He stood in the middle of the room, pulling from the bottle and watching as Eliza walked around the room touching things like the weapons on his wall, the wood of the desk – she snatched the back of his desk chair in one delicate hand and deftly flipped it around.

“Have a seat, pretty boy,” she said, her husky voice almost breaking.

Dean paused again, watching her command the room. She belonged there. She was comfortable and the light and air embraced her exquisitely. “What’re we doing?” Dean asked, swagger at full effect all the way to the chair. She could see the bulge in his pants. 

“Well,” Eliza hummed, running her fingers across the expanse of his shoulders when he finally sat, legs thrown askew, another pull of whiskey bobbing in his throat. “ _You’re_ gonna sit in this chair like a good boy, while _I_ ride you like a cowgirl.”

Before Dean could reply with words, Eliza swung around the chair, landing astride his hips. She’d kicked her boots off when he wasn’t looking. Dean grunted in satisfaction and surprise. In such close proximity, he could smell the clean scent of her shampoo, the sweet whiskey on her breath, and the salt of exertion on her skin.

“Hey, cowgirl,” Dean smirked and lifted the bottle once more. Eliza stopped the advance of the bottle at his wrist with one hand then took a sip of her own with her free hand, grinding into his lap.

“You’re hard,” she said. Dean nodded, tracing the seams of her pants with his fingers and thumbs. “That’s good.”

She threw her head back, pitching her hips forward further pressing into him and trickled whiskey down one side of her throat and across her collarbone. Dean didn’t wait to lean into her and lick the sweetness from her salty skin. He gripped her slight hips in his hands, keeping her right where they both want her to be, while he cleaned her with tongue and lips and scraping teeth.

“Oh, baby, this is gonna be _lit_ ,” Eliza dipped to the side to set the bottle on the floor then whipped her tank over her head. Before it landed on the bed, she had her hands in his hair and her lips on his – finally – and Dean groaned into the kiss. 

Truth be told, Dean loved kissing. He loved making out, loved touching everything, everywhere. He could do this for hours – this soft, supple girl, writhing in his lap, tongues twisting and hands exploring. He slowly pulled one strap of her black satin bra over one shoulder, trailing the tip of his nose and lips over her skin, lightly tracing her spine and along her waistband with the rough pads of his fingers. He wound one hand in the back of her hair, pulling the other up in front to slip the slack cup from her breast.

Dean lightly latched onto her nipple, sliding his tongue around and pulling with soft lips. His mouth felt so good, so warm. Eliza pulled at the skin on his neck with her lips and teeth, it was smooth and he smelled like leather and gunpowder. The sounds he was making were the kind of masculine utterances she longed for, the deep rumbles and moans and sighs, and the wet sounds of his tongue working her nipple, moving across her chest and up her neck to her ear, pulling with his teeth. His breath in her ear turned her skin to gooseflesh.

“Let’s get these off,” his voice was hoarse. He kissed her as he worked the button of her pants through its hole and unzipped them. Eliza stood for the brief moment it took for Dean to work her pants and panties over her hips. She shimmied the rest of the way out of them then kicked them aside with her socks, tossing her bra on top.

“Your turn,” she leered, balancing on his knees, legs spread wide, as she worked his belt and pants open. Dean ran one finger through her slit and reached for the whiskey with his other hand, taking a swig, watching her work. Eliza moved all the fabric out of the way to get at her prize and grinned. “Jackpot.” Her golden-brown eyes flicked up to meet his.

“God, you’re pretty.” She kissed him hard. He had the longest, thickest lashes framing the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen on a man. She could swim in them.

Dean set the whiskey back on the floor, sliding a finger inside her. She chuckled and groaned then wrapped a hand around his hard length, inching into his body, working his shirt open with her other hand. She sighed when her cool hand met the warm, smooth curves of his chest. Her thumb grazed his tip, spreading the bit of precum around, feeling him further swell, as his own matched her movement across her clit.

He gripped one of her knees and squeezed before running his hand up her strong thigh, his thumb stopping at the hot, wet juncture to trace her opening where he was fucking her with a single finger. They were kissing again and he mimicked the movements of his tongue with his fingers and thumbs as best he could. He wanted to taste her pussy, but that could wait.

“Tell me you have a condom because I can’t wait,” Eliza wrapped an arm around his neck and thrust against him hard, mixing her wetness with his and he groaned. 

“Back pocket,” he reached for his wallet as she rubbed herself forward and back over his length, almost pulling him inside.

“Fuck, I could come like this,” she gasped, eyes closed, head thrown back in utter abandon, barely hanging by his neck and shoulders.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Dean slowed his actions to watch in awe. She really looked like she was riding a bull and her face was pure rapture. “Do it.” He braced one hand at the small of her back, holding her in place so she could just let it all go, as he ripped open the package with his teeth.

Eliza came fast with a hoarse cry, her skin covered in a sheen of sweat. She was sobbing with joy as she collapsed forward onto his shoulder. She was breathless and a sopping wet mess in his lap, arms and legs loose and humming.

Dean nuzzled into her ear. “Hold on.” He stood and she instinctually wrapped her legs around his waist and groaned. He turned and took three strides to the bed and dropped her dead-center before pulling his shirt off and pushing his pants, boxers, and shoes off in one swift motion. She was enthralled, sprawling open for him as he stood fully nude and hard, rolling the condom to cover his width and length. Her was mouth watering.

Then he leaned forward and gripped one ankle, dragging her a few inches until he could easily kiss his way from her delicate ankle to her wet center. Eliza stretched like a cat under his attention, as he pushed her completely open, hands wrapped around the backs of her knees, pushing them to either side of her chest. “I just want a little taste, but then I gotta be inside you.” His mouth was on her, hot and solid, tongue and lips kissing and licking. He used the full force of his body to fuck her with his tongue, to graze her clit with his lips.

“Ung, your fucking mouth.” She sunk her fingers into his hair, writhing in utter joy.

Dean chuckled then gave her one long lick before moving to his knees. “More later,” he said. He dropped onto all fours, her legs draping his arms and his hands braced on either side of her shoulders. He kissed her lingering, unhurried until he felt her shoulders slump and her hands clasp around his neck. She sighed into the kiss and he pushed inside, long and slow.

They groaned in unison and Eliza pitched her hips until her ankles were hooked behind Dean’s head. He pulled out and slid back in, solid and smooth, then did it again. The angle served him well, but he wanted to make sure she’d come again, wanted to feel her. “Good?” he asked, setting a rhythm.

“Mhm,” Eliza nodded with a dazed grin, licking her lips and breathing hard. He tasted her neck and her collarbone, picking up speed and momentum with each push. Eliza dragged a hand down his torso to where they were joined and braced her clit, two fingers in the shape of a V. His thrusts aided in the friction she needed and she whispered, desperately, “Dean, come with me.”

He was up on his knees, banging into her, hugging her thighs to his chest, watching her closely. “Fuck,” he gritted his teeth. “Already?”

“Yes, god…” she was almost whining.

In moments she came, erratically squeezing around him, soaking him, crying out his name and all kinds of expletives. He kept driving into her, getting closer himself. Three more hard, deep thrusts and he roared his own release, their shouts, bouncing off the brick walls.

They were breathing heavy as a couple of marathon runners, as Dean pulled out and Eliza let her legs drop open to the bed. He tied off the condom and tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan before dissolving into a mass of sweat and sighs at her side.

“Thanks, dude,” she sighed. “That was good.” She rolled to her side, facing him, letting her eyes wander over his superbly male form. “You really are very pretty, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“Back atcha, sister,” Dean returned her smirk, shifting to mirror her position. He brushed her hair over her shoulder, clasping her arm and running his hand down over smooth skin until he reached her hip. His finger traced the words set in ink. “What’s this?”

She was thoughtful, her expression more subdued than he’d seen since he first laid eyes on her. “Burning in the light,” she answered. His eyes met hers, asking for an explanation. He could see he wasn’t going to get it.

Eliza rolled off the bed and grabbed his shirt and boxers from the floor. Donning Dean’s clothes like a child playing dress-up and twisting her hair into a bun, she asked, “got anything to eat around here?” Then she disappeared through the door.

Dean shook his head before standing to pull on his discarded pants and follow her to the kitchen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Dean delivers on a promise and introduces Eliza to Sam and Cas.

By the time Dean reached the kitchen, Eliza was bent over, digging through the refrigerator. His fed shirt hung on her like a dress that she didn’t bother buttoning all the way up or down and his boxers were rolled at the waist so many times, they were practically riding up her tight little ass.

“Nice outfit, sweetheart,” he said, walking into the room. She stood triumphant with a slice of pizza and a beer.

“Thanks,” she said, taking a bite of the cold pepperoni and cheese, looking him up and down, paying special attention to his bare torso. “You too.” She trailed her bottle from his collarbones to his navel, grinning up at him, leaving behind condensation and goose flesh then moved to the dining table. He watched her hop up on the edge, legs swinging, and stick the slice of pizza between her teeth by the crust to free her hands so she could open the beer.

Dean shook his head loose of the returning fog of lust then grabbed a beer for himself, twisting the cap and tossing it to the garbage can. “Head back to Nebraska tomorrow?” he asked, straddling one of the stools at the table and taking a nice long swig of the cold brew. Eliza tore at the pizza with her teeth, sauce gathering at the corners of her mouth and congealed grease coating her fingers. She looked very pleased with the whole messy experience, and Dean found it unreasonably erotic.

Eliza shrugged. “I could use a little rest and regroup,” she answered, picking at the remaining crust of her midnight snack, licking the corners of her mouth, then taking another healthy gulp of beer. “But, you’re the boss.” She shrugged again, holding him with her warm, honey eyes.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, right,” he said, giving her a wry grin, sipping his beer and watching her closely. She suddenly looked very youthful and sweet, her bare feet swinging above the floor, her lips wiped clean of the red that he found so incredibly sexy in the interrogation room. Dean decided that simple, artless Eliza was as tantalizing as battle weary, scarlet red Eliza.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said with a grin.

He finished his beer and set the empty bottle to the side, then reached for her bare knee. “C’mere.” Eliza had finished her pizza but still sipped her beer, letting him move her, holding his gaze as he turned her to face him. She rolled back to lie on the table, arms thrown wide, as he pulled her ass to the edge and his boxers from her body.

“Made you a promise,” Dean said, tossing the garment over his shoulder and blessing his shoulders with her strong, graceful legs. She sighed and smiled, rolling her head from one side to the other.

Once he had her where he wanted her, he went to work, scattering kisses to the insides of her thighs, hugging her hips with one arm then running a hand up her ribcage to pop open the one button she’d given any attention. He gently squeezed one breast, pulled the nipple, and pushed the fabric out of the way, before grazing back down her belly, under her hips and up between her legs.

“You’re good with your hands, Winchester,” Eliza rasped, starry-eyed, watching him from where she lay. She used her own hands, dragging them down her neck, cupping her breasts, squeezing, wishing his hands could be everywhere she wanted them to be at once. Dean spread her open with a thumb and finger to taste her and she gasped. “Oh, fuck, and that mouth.” She gritted her teeth.

He chuckled and licked and touched her. He loved her reactions, her words. She seemed so experienced and yet so easy to thrill. He loved the way she smelled – his own scent lingering – where he licked and sucked her.  He slid a finger inside her just to see what she’d do and she squealed with delight, hugging his neck with her legs. His thumb brushed her clit and she moaned, writhing beneath him.

He was so hard, her sounds and the sight of her sprawled across his table was the most erotic thing he’d experienced in a long fucking time; which was saying a lot, considering she made herself come in his lap like she was riding a god damned mechanical bull not 20-minutes before.

He slid another finger inside her, twisting smoothly, and kept on her clit with his thumb, sliding around the outside, never pressing too hard or directly. He didn’t want her to come too soon, wanted it to last as long as she was doing what she was doing right then.

Eliza hummed – she loved that he was so in the moment. Even as frenzied as they’d been in his bedroom, he never seemed out of control, always relaxed, up for anything – and never stopped touching or kissing her. His tongue was a gift to mankind in so many ways, as he worked on her clit and when he was talking about it.

“You’re gettin’ my fingers and mouth so messy,” he licked from bottom to top, twisting and thrusting a third finger inside her and she pushed against his face. “You like that stretch? Or you want less?” He pulled back and she groaned. “More,” he nodded with a grin, slipping back inside. “Got it.”

When they heard the heavy metal, outer door to the bunker groan open and slam closed, Eliza’s eyes flew open and darted to Dean’s face. “We about to have an audience?” she asked.

Dean shook his head. “No way,” he said, never pulling his attention from her; instead doubling down with more force. “They know better.” Eliza groaned his name and her hands went to his hair, pulling and pushing, she was moving in time with his thrusts.

Dean could feel her trembling and vibrating around his fingers. He took her clit between his lips and pulled, tonguing her and fucking her with all he had. In seconds she was coming against his mouth and on his fingers, and Sam and Cas were coming down the hall.

Dean held one of her legs as the other dropped to his side, reaching behind for the boxers he’d discarded. He helped Eliza to a sitting position and to get the shorts back on, while she buttoned his shirt across her chest. Luckily, she was somewhat covered by the time Sam and Cas entered the kitchen, oblivious to their surroundings.

“Whoa,” Sam said, stopping in his tracks, Cas, slamming straight into his back.

“Sam,” Cas scolded, looking up from the book he was reading.

They each took in the scene in front of them. They had clearly walked in on something. Dean was shirtless and the unfamiliar girl wearing referenced shirt sat on the dining table facing his brother, her bare feet resting comfortably on his thighs.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, one hand on her bare knee. “How was Arizona?” he asked.

Sam’s eyes flicked to where Dean caressed her bare skin as he reluctantly gave him a quick debrief of the reconnaissance he and Cas had conducted. There was still no sign of Crowley and the demons he’d released were gaining power. People were dying.

“Um, how was Nebraska?” Sam asked. Castiel stared at the girl in the most spectacular display of puzzlement she’d ever witnessed. The whole scene made her laugh.

Dean shot her a look of amusement. “Shapeshifter hybrid in the wind,” he answered Sam. “Eliza, this is my brother Sam and our angel buddy Cas - he’s an angel of the lord; Sam and Cas, this is Eliza the lovely hunter of all things nasty.” Eliza nodded without a beat then reached behind herself for her discarded beer.

“I feel we may have interrupted something,” Cas said, and Eliza snorted.

“Not at all,” she replied sarcastically, tipping her head back for a drink of her beer.

“You totally did,” Dean confirmed, entranced by the liquid visibly sliding down her throat.

“Sorry,” Sam said, contrite. “We were kinda distracted when we came in.” Sam was fascinated by the woman in front of him and his brother’s reactions to her every move; it was like invisible strings connected them.

Dean nodded. “I need another beer,” he stood and crossed the room. “Anybody else?”

“Sure,” Sam answered.

“Bring it,” Eliza piped up, pulling her hair from the messy bun she’d created and combing her fingers through her tresses.

“I don’t drink beer,” Castiel stated, pointedly toward Eliza and she nodded in mock interest.

“I wouldn’t think so,” she said with a smirk.

Dean twisted the cap from one bottle and handed it to Eliza, repeating the action for Sam, then opening his own. He held up his bottle for a toast. “To never knowing what the fuck we’re doing,” Dean said and they all clinked bottles before taking long and slow sips.

“I’m going to the library,” Cas announced, leaving the room with the text in his hands.

“He’s...” Dean shrugged. “Cas.” Eliza nodded again with the mock interest.

“So,” Sam began hesitantly. “Are you from Nebraska, Eliza?”

“No,” she answered, curling a leg under her and Sam could see she was wearing a pair of Dean’s boxers in addition to the dress shirt. “Boston, originally, but these days I’m kinda all over the place.” She waved her hand and took another sip of beer.

Sam nodded in understanding. “I hear that,” he said. “After a while, those motels all start to look the same. A very short while.”

“No shit,” Dean said. “We got lucky finding this place for more reasons than research. It’s home base.”

“This place is wicked awesome.” She slid off the table to her feet and stretched until her back and hips popped. “I’m beat,” she announced. “Nice to meet you, Sam,” she said before turning to Dean. “You comin’?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be right there,” he answered and she disappeared down the hall.

Once she was out of earshot, Sam turned to Dean. “Dude,” he said with a questioning look.

Dean shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I mean, what… you brought her to the bunker.” He wasn’t accusing Dean of anything, necessarily, but he was very confused. The bunker wasn’t just their home base, it was a safe house. Not just anyone was welcome there.

“I know,” Dean replied, sipping his beer and giving his brother a look of caution. “Don’t worry. She’s cool.”

“Dean, I’m not worried, just… curious?”

“About?” Dean asked, challenging his brother with a look.

Sam paused, thinking. “What is she to you?” he asked, with genuine curiosity.

Dean drew in a breath before replying. “Sam, I’ve known her for all of four hours, ok?”

“But, she’s cool and no one should worry,” Sam stated rather than asked. “About anything.”

“Yeah,” Dean answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Exactly.”

Sam shook his head, trying to make sense of what was happening with his brother.

“Now, I’m gonna go to my room and bang the fuck outta the inasanely hot chick in my bed,” Dean said with a grin. “’Night, Sammy.”

Sam blinked. “G’night.”

When Dean reached his bedroom, Eliza was sprawled diagonally across the bed. She’d taken his shirt off but still wore his boxers, rolled at the waist and bunched up between her legs.

“Never knew how hot my boxers were,” he muttered, closing and locking the door behind him. Dean set his beer on the nightstand, got rid of his pants, and crawled on all fours to reach for the one piece of fabric between them and pulled. Eliza arched her back and moaned.

“You’re insatiable, Winchester, and I love it.” She started to roll to her back, but he placed a hand in the center and pushed up.

“Relax,” he said, and she happily burrowed into the mattress. His hands stroked and squeezed intermittently like he was searching for something. He massaged her shoulders and arms, ran his hands down her sides, massaged her glutes, and ghosted his fingertips along the tender crease where her thighs met her ass.

She sighed. “You’re gonna ruin me.” She’d had a lot of sex, she’d even had a couple of relationships, but she’d never been with a man who touched her the way Dean Winchester touched her.

“That’s the plan.” His voice was deep and dark. “Ruin you.” He dipped his head to kiss her shoulder blade, settling between her legs, spreading her open with his knees. “Wreck you.” He pushed her hair out of the way and nipped at her neck and ear. “Destroy you.”

Eliza pushed her ass back into him and reached for his free hand, twining their fingers together. “That a promise?”

He pushed forward, his thick, hard cock sliding against her clit, planting a kiss on her shoulder then pushing himself to kneel. “You know it is.” He reached for the box of condoms in his nightstand. He’d never brought a woman there before, but it was wishful thinking. He picked a single condom out of the box and set the box aside, wasting no time in ridding himself of the foil package and rolling lAlex over his length.

Meanwhile, Eliza had moved to all fours, stretching like a cat. She seemed to do that a lot and he wasn’t opposed to it. Dean placed a hand on her hip but didn’t move her. He just wanted to touch her. He reached over and grabbed a handful of her hair, twisting it around his wrist. Eliza fell to her forearms as he pushed in slowly, kneeling behind her. He rocked back and forth, working his way to the hilt. “Shit,” she breathed. “Do it.”

Dean tightened his grip in her hair, twisting tighter as he began to move out and back in again. He angled his hips down to hit that spot he’d found earlier - the one that made her squeak - and there it was again. He set a pace of shallow thrusts against that spot and her toes curled as she kicked the tops of her feet against the mattress. “Fuck,” she was gasping for air, her hands clawing at the blankets, taking everything he gave. “I can’t- Dean... fuck.”

He was relentless, pulling back farther but hitting that spot just as hard. “Can’t what? Tell me.” He breathed hard and heavy, feeling her frantically clamping around him.

“I’m coming so hard,” she sobbed into the bed, shaking. He kept his thrust at full force through her orgasm, losing his breath.

Once she’d stopped shaking so violently, he pushed her flat to the bed, pulled out and straddled her thighs. “You okay?” he asked and she nodded, boneless and breathless beneath him. “Good.” He shoved a pillow under her hips and pushed her legs together with his knees before sliding back inside her with a groan. He set an immediate and brutal pace, pushing full lengths at a time, gripping her shoulders for leverage. He was riding her much like she’d ridden him an hour before. “Liza,” he wanted her to come again. “Talk to me.”

She moaned and wiggled beneath him. “Baby, I’m so ruined. Don’t stop.”

Dean collapsed, bracing his forearms on either side of her head and burying his face in her neck. “Shit.” He picked up his pace and the bed shook beneath them. “I wanna feel you come again.”

She chuckled. “Good boys get what they want. Fuck.”

She was coming again and he couldn’t wait anymore. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck!” he called out loud, dropping his forehead to her temple. They were both out of breath again and covered in sweat.

Dean slowly lifted himself off of her and pulled out, taking care of the condom before rolling to his back. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered and Eliza crawled up to lay her head over his heart.

“I know, right?”

They both laughed and Dean worked the blankets around and from underneath them, annoyed and muttering expletives, so they didn’t have to move, covering them both as they drifted to sleep.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to try my hand at more focused POVs in this installment – Eliza’s first then Dean’s. Let me know what you think?

How did she not know that Dean Winchester was alive and bore the Mark of Cain? In hindsight, her gut probably felt it the second he crossed the Nebraska state line - it’s probably why she was so wound up and why she fucked up - but she didn’t actually see the Mark until after she’d come three times and Dean was tracing her tattoo with one of his incredibly expert fingers. Every wet minute with him, every orgasm was more powerful than the last – and frankly, it scared her. It’s like the closer she and Dean got, the closer the Mark got to homing in on her.

 

Cain was killing off his descendants one at a time – men, women, and children alike – and the Mark was still connected to him in some way she had yet to discover. She lay with Dean curled around her, legs tangled, his steady heartbeat at her back, and his right arm slung over her, the Mark staring her in the face. She closed her eyes to it and shifted under Dean’s arm.

 

He sighed with his eyes closed, lazily drawing his hand along her spine then slowly trailing his fingers up again. Dim light cast down from the transom windows played over his smooth forehead, his pale eyelids and thick, long lashes, the smattering of freckles over his nose and cheeks. He licked his full lips and hummed, hugging her closer.

 

Eliza burrowed into his chest, pushing her nose into his neck, reveling in his scent. She hadn’t felt so close to someone, so intimate, in years. The last time she felt safe in someone’s arms, she was a little girl in her daddy’s lap. She felt tears threaten to fill her eyes, so she moved.

 

She kissed his neck, his collarbones, his chest, and swirled her tongue around each of his nipples before pulling each between her lips. She licked and kissed her way over his ribs and abdomen, and nipped lightly at his hip. As she made her way down, Dean rolled to his back, one arm under his head and a hand in her hair. “Mornin’,” he rumbled, looking down at her.

 

Eliza grinned up at him as she crawled between his legs, pushing his thighs open with her hands, then smoothing up to where he was hardening beyond morning wood. “Hi,” she replied, flashing him the dimple that she knew was kryptonite for so many people she’d encountered. She wrapped a hand around his thickness, squeezing gently and swiping her tongue around the head – all the while, holding his gaze.

 

Dean cupped her cheek and she nuzzled into his palm, humming, as she slowly worked over his cock, and then his balls, with her hands. “You should let me,” he says, running his thumb along her bottom lip before she licked the underside of his cock, long and slow. “Come on, hop up here.” He reached down and gripped her thigh, pulling, teasing.

 

She shifted to hover over him, straddling his face, elbows on either side of his waist, stretching her neck to lick him again. Dean caressed her thighs, kissing her everywhere. He paid special attention to that sensitive dip between her cunt and her thigh – on both sides – touching, licking. “Mmm,” his voice was a low reverberation of pleasure.

 

Eliza deduced from his sounds of satisfaction and his earlier performance that Dean Winchester really liked eating pussy.

 

She swirled her tongue around his girth and twisted her hand. He was hot and so smooth in her hands. She flattened her tongue as she took him into her mouth as far as she could without hitting her throat.

 

She couldn’t stifle her cry when he parted her lips and dragged his tongue from the base of her clit to her ass then flicked back down and pushed inside for the briefest of moments. She dropped her head to catch her breath as his lips wrapped around her clit and teased with his tongue. Her brain scrambled and she didn’t know if she could focus on anything but his mouth. Then he slipped a thumb inside her slick and joined his tongue at her clit with a finger, and she bucked back onto his face.

 

“Fuck, Dean,” she whispered, resting her head against his thigh, taking him in her hand once more. Her thoughts were all over the place and he wasn’t letting up. He slid his long middle finger between her ass cheeks and gently sucked and rubbed her clit, while slowly moving his thumb in and out.

 

Eliza admitted to herself that her oral skills did not compare to his – she preferred to receive, and she hadn’t had a lot of time with past lovers to get comfortable enough to practice and hone her technique. But, damn, did she want to do it for Dean so she threw caution to the wind.

 

With renewed effort and determination, Eliza slid her mouth back down over his cock and started to move. She gripped him at his base, trying to relax her throat to take him. Dean shifted under her and let one hand wander across her ass and up her spine and traversing the back of her ribcage before clasping a hand completely around her side and back down to her thigh. His soft but sure movements with his tongue and lips and fingers had her belly in knots.

 

Then he pressed his middle finger against the tight ring of her ass, barely breaching her, and his tongue was flat and hot over her clit. She gave up; she couldn’t take any more. She released his cock from her mouth and sobbed his one syllable name over three as she collapsed on top of him and let her orgasm roll through her, hard and long.

 

She could feel him gently rolling her to her back his hands smoothing over her skin. Then she heard the wrapper tear and he was sliding between her legs and settling over her. For several minutes they were full-body contact, skin on skin and he was kissing her mouth and slowly bucking between her thighs, his thick, hard cock rubbing her wetness. Then he rolled off her to his side, rolling her away from him so he could curve around her back. He kissed her neck, pushed his top knee between her legs and opened her, her leg hanging over his thigh just below his bent knee. Twining their other legs together to anchor her to the bed, he grasped her hand in his and reached down so they could both get him inside her. Their hands lay clasped together over her cunt and he started to move.

 

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders from behind, restricting her further. He was testing her boundaries, but he had a distinct feeling that she’d like being held in place and he was always one to oblige. He slid all the way home, swiveled his hips, and switched his angle until he found just the right groove.

 

The Mark made Dean hungry for blood and violence. Until now, he didn’t know that it also ramped his libido. Eliza, being a hunter and seemingly equal to him in sexual appetite came along at just the right time because he would never be so domineering and rough with a random one-night-stand.

 

“I wanted to make you come,” she gasped, and he knew he’d found the spot, so he set the pace and kissed her skin again and again. She smelled like sex and for very good reason. He’d already fucked and eaten her to orgasm twice each. And he was nowhere near done. “But that fucking mouth of yours- uhn- I got distracted.”

 

Dean chuckled and pulled her earlobe into his mouth. He knew what his strengths were and eating pussy was very high on the list. He liked doing it and women always wanted it. Sure, they were sometimes shy about it, but he’d get them relaxed and worked up, and they couldn’t say no. And then he’d blow their minds.

 

“Plenty of time later for head,” he said, kissing her shoulder and she arched as much as she could, showing him the smooth expanse of her throat. “Right now, I wanna take advantage of how fucking soaked you are.” He groaned, swiping his tongue up the side of her neck and then biting. The wet pushing and pulling sounds were like a track to the hottest porno ever. “Listen to that.”

 

Eliza laughed and clenched around him in opposition with his thrusts, so every pull out, it was like she was squeezing him with a tight, wet fist. Dean left her to touch herself and raised his other arm enough to cage her hips, getting even better leverage. He slammed into her, gripping her right shoulder with his left hand and her left hip with his right hand. She would surely have bruises as a result. He’d have to make it up to her.

 

Eliza gripped his upper arm with one hand and pressed her clit with her other. As much as he’d limited her motions with his arm wrapped around her hips, trapping her wrist underneath, his solid sliding in and out and her fingers on her clit had her coming hard. He held her just as tight and fucked her through it. She was a mess and shouting and amazing.

 

As she began to quiet, he slowed his thrusts, rolling her to her stomach, never leaving her body. He untangled their legs and climbed between her thighs, spreading her wide open. Once he regained leverage, he picked up his pace again. His own legs spread wide, holding her open and sliding up into her, holding her still by her hips, pinning her down, rubbing circles over her smooth skin with his thumbs.

 

Eliza sighed underneath him, a boneless mass. Then she started moaning and shifting under him and he felt her clench around him. “Damn, I haven’t been fucked like this in… ever.” Her voice was husky and full of sex. “Promise not to stop?” Her breath was shaking and she was most definitely whining.

 

He felt his orgasm barreling down the tracks as he sped up. He wanted to feel her come again but knew he couldn’t hold out any longer. He could sense how good she felt right then, though, so he subconsciously cataloged the things he’d do to her later. “I’m gonna come,” he moaned. “More later, sweetheart, that I promise.” He dropped a kiss to her shoulder before finally coming - longer and harder than he could ever remember. Looking down at the woman beneath him, easily taking his thrusts, just prolonged it.

 

When Dean was finally able to stop thrusting into her, he stilled, gently pulled out, and collapsed to his back. “Sonuvabitch,” he breathed, raking a hand over his face. He lay panting for several moments as Eliza rolled to face him, then wiggled closer, resting her head just below his heart. They were both quiet for a while, Dean, twirling her hair around his fingers. He almost dozed off when his stomach growled loud and fierce.

 

Eliza laughed and sat up to look down at him. “You should’ve eaten cold pizza with me last night,” she said, running a hand up and around his neck. He broke out in goose bumps from her touch. She dipped her head and kissed his lips. “I know I saw eggs in your fridge last night,” she mumbled against his lips.

 

“I make a mean stack of pancakes,” he tucked her hair behind her ear and traced her dimple with his lingering fingertip. “Lots of syrup.” She grinned down at him and he felt that smile in his heart and his gut. “Butter.” He cupped her jaw. “Kiss me.”

 

And Eliza didn’t hesitate. She sunk into him.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moving the plot along a bit in this one with a smattering of the sex. ;-)

This image inspired Dean's behavior and disposition in the second section. lol

 

##

 

Sam didn’t know what to think. Eliza’d been at the bunker with Dean for four days. Of course, he barely saw them since they spent most of the time in Dean’s room, making so much noise Sam had to sleep with headphones. And neither of them seemed concerned about the missing shifter from Nebraska, Crowley, or researching the Mark.

 

He wondered how much, if anything, Eliza knew about the Mark. She had to have seen it – Dean wasn’t even bothering with long sleeves the past few days, and just that morning, she was sitting in his lap, making Castiel wonder aloud whether she was somehow opposed to sitting in chairs, while Dean fed her scrambled eggs. She giggled, batting at his forearm, right where the Mark was etched because she was “afraid” he was going to smash the food in her face.

 

Sam rolled his eyes at the memory. He had never in their entire lives seen Dean so consistently carefree. For four days, Dean hadn’t even so much as shaved or put real clothes on let alone asked Sam for an update. Maybe the more appropriate word was careless.

 

“Sam,” Castiel interrupted Sam’s thoughts. “I’m wondering about Dean and this… _Eliza_ person.”

 

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Wondering?” he asked for clarification that he’d probably regret receiving.

 

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s possible that she could be sating the Mark in some way? Sexually, perhaps.”

 

That thought had occurred to Sam but quickly dismissed it. Eliza wasn’t the first woman Dean had been with since accepting the Mark. He shook his head. “I thought of that, but… why her? Why now?”

 

Castiel nodded. He was quiet for a few minutes and Sam went back to reading. “What if she herself is connected to the Mark?” Castiel wondered.

 

Sam looked up, the thought piquing something inside him. “Hmm,” he thought. “That would explain a lot.” He looked at Castiel and they both felt like they’d hit on something.

 

“Yes, it would,” Castiel replied.

 

##

 

“Dude, we need more condoms,” Eliza shook the empty box and laughed when Dean launched himself onto the bed.

 

“That’s what happens when you’re turbo fucking,” Dean buried his face in her neck and inhaled. “Mmm, you smell good.” He rolled her to her back and slotted himself between her bare thighs.

 

She’d lost count of the number of times they’d had sex in the few days they’d know each other, but the box was bigger than a 12-pack. She sighed internally and hummed under him.

 

“Whoa, there, hoss,” she playfully pushed at his chest and he burrowed deeper, rasping against her neck with the thick, soft hair on his jaw. “What did I just say about condoms?” she smiled dreamily up at the ceiling, arching her neck into him.

 

Dean pouted. “I mean, do we really need ‘em?” he whined, looking her in the eye, defiant and desperate, and she stilled. She wanted him deep and bare inside her, but she knew the exceptional level of lust she felt for him clouded her judgment. She knew their magic connection was to blame, but she couldn’t tell him that – not yet.

 

He closed his eyes and dropped kisses to her neck, slow and sweet, grinding into her. “Promise I won’t give you cooties,” he whispered, sucking delicate skin between his teeth and pulling her arms up to pin her wrists over her head.

 

She sighed, breathing him in, raising her knees and hugging his hips, rolling her own. “Fuck, Dean,” she breathed, rolled her neck from side to side, reveling in his tongue and lips, his weight on top of her, his breath in her ear, it was all too much. And that look in his eyes – she couldn’t say no. She nodded. “Okay.”

 

He hummed and slipped inside her and they both groaned. They’d been fucking almost every minute that they weren’t doing necessary to life things, but fuck if every time didn’t feel like the first – especially raw.

 

Dean grunted. “I really thought I’d wrecked this pussy, but you’re still so tight.” He breathed into her and kissed her and she clenched around him.

 

“I’m just that good.” Eliza sighed on a shaky breath. “Shit, I didn’t know your cock could feel better. _God_.” She spread her legs wider, pressing her outer thighs to the mattress and arching her back.

 

Dean pushed up onto his hands and set a rhythm, sliding in and out of her. She raked her nails down his chest and settled her hands on his swaying hips. Her insides were like molten heat and he was stirring the pot. They were a mess of wet and hot, his hard and her soft. She couldn’t be more open to him but she wanted to be. She wanted to take all of him entirely inside and never let him out.

 

“Dean,” she whispered, feeling tears prick her eyes. That was happening a lot too – he had made her come and cry more than she had over the past five years combined. “Please don’t stop.” She knew she was crying full on, then, but couldn’t stop herself.

 

“Not a chance,” Dean said, dipping his head to kiss her and nuzzle her cheek. “Shh, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

 

##

 

“Dean,” Castiel stood in the doorway to the kitchen, Sam lingering behind him. “May we have a word?”

 

Dean and Eliza were eating ice cream straight from the carton, Eliza sitting up on the stainless steel counter in another pair of Dean’s boxer and t-shirt, Dean wedged between her legs. She was feeding him this time.

 

“Shoot,” Dean said in response, not really giving Castiel and Sam the attention they’d hoped for. Dean took another spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s from the spoon Eliza offered, laughing when some of it dripped onto her bare knee. He ducked his head and licked the sweet cream from her skin.

 

Castiel cast Sam a worried glance. “Um,” he stammered. “Alone?”

 

Dean turned then, cocking an eyebrow. Sam cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. He knew that look. Eliza wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“Dean,” Sam started, pushing his way past Castiel and into the kitchen. “What Cas is trying to say is, we need to talk about the Mark.”

 

For the briefest of seconds, Sam could swear he saw Eliza stiffen. Dean’s fingers played over the bare skin of her thighs and he looked thoughtful, before shrugging and turning to fully face his brother. He leaned against the counter next to Eliza, arms crossed over his chest. “So, talk,” he said, challenging Sam. Eliza dropped the spoon into the carton and looked down at her hands.

 

Sam sighed. “Cas and I were discussing the Mark,” Sam paused throwing a look over his shoulder to Castiel. “We’re still trying to figure it out, but… you’re just kind of acting… different, Dean.” Sam looked hopeful – that Dean would understand what he meant.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Different _how_ , Sammy? Use your words.” His tone was classic snarky Dean but there was an extra edge that put Sam on the defensive.

 

Sam clenched his jaw. “You haven’t even asked if we’ve found Crowley or any more about the Mark,” Sam started to rant, waving his hand in the air. “And I don’t remember _ever_ seeing you with a beard.”

 

Eliza tried to make herself smaller. She could sense what was coming. Dean was spending all of his time with her and they noticed and they didn’t think it was normal. She knew that it wasn’t.

 

Dean laughed out loud. “You’re mad because I haven’t shaved?!?”

 

“Dean, I’m not mad, I’m just baffled as to what is so special about this girl!” Sam flinched at his own words. “No offense,” he tried to placate Eliza.

 

She raised her hands and shook her head with a wry smile. “None taken, Paul Bunyan.”

 

Dean snorted and nudged her. “Sammy, are you jealous?” Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother. Sam shot him a look of incredulity. “You are, aren’t you?”

 

“No,” Sam shook his head. “That’s not-”

 

“You so are,” Dean laughed. “Fuckin’ amazing.” He pushed away from the counter and reached to help Eliza down. He wanted out of the conversation and didn’t want to subject her to it any longer.

 

“Dean,” Castiel spoke up moving further into the kitchen. “We think the _time_ you’ve been spending together could be connected to the Mark.”

 

Dean paused and Eliza stood next to him, looking between the other two men and Dean.

 

“Good or bad,” Sam said, holding up his hands in surrender, taking advantage of the small window. “We just need to talk it through. Can we just talk?”

 

Dean considered his brother’s words, pursed lips and arched brow. He looked at Eliza and she shrugged and shook her head. Sam marveled at the silent communication, which Dean didn’t have with many people other than himself. “A’right,” Dean said, settling back against the counter again. “What if it is? What if this thing doesn’t just want blood and murder and somehow I can sate it with sex? How could that be bad?”

 

Sam looked to Eliza who was staring at her hands again. “Well, I guess that has to do with where Eliza sits in all this,” he spoke cautiously. He willed her to look at him. “What are you getting out of this?”

 

Eliza scoffed and rolled her eyes to keep from making eye contact with anyone. “Have you seen your brother? And I’m sure you’re not deaf.” She tried to embarrass Sam into discontinuing his line of questioning. “Does ‘oh, God, Dean, fuck me harder’ sound familiar to you?”

 

Dean chuckled and Sam smirked. “Vaguely,” Sam answered, pinning her with his gaze, and she had nowhere else to look. “But I don’t believe this is just about getting fucked – for either of you.”

 

A few tense beats of silence filled the room until Castiel spoke up. “It’s not,” he said, eyes narrowing to slits as he approached Eliza. She shifted uncomfortably, looking for a way out. “You’re a descendant,” Castiel said curiously.

 

“A descendant,” Dean said, turning toward her. “Of…”

 

“Cain,” Castiel said. The picture began to flood with color and snap into focus for the men. Eliza didn’t seem fazed, though, and that worried Sam even more.

 

“Did you know?” Sam asked her, accusation hanging heavily in his voice.

 

Eliza stood still for a moment, staring at her bare toes. She nodded. “It’s the reason I’m a hunter,” she answered, trying not to focus on Dean’s reaction at her side. “Started with research into what it all meant then hunting and now…” She looked up to Castiel and Sam then, finally, Dean. “But I didn’t know about _you_ till… after.” She dropped her gaze again and Dean moved into her, tipping her chin up and looking her over closely.

 

“Sure about that?” he asked, sounding at once vulnerable and hard.

 

She softened and nodded. “I swear it.” Dean relaxed, nodding and turning his knuckles into her skin, gently brushing her cheek.

 

“By then it was too late, likely,” Castiel speculated. “Your bond, whatever it is, only grows stronger with every moment you’re together – in any capacity it seems.”

 

Eliza hooked a hand into the waistband of Dean’s sweatpants and they watched each other, while Castiel and Sam verbally sussed out next steps.

 

“We have to hit the books harder on this,” Sam said finally. “You two should…” He stopped to watch them stare at each other. “Cas,” Sam was at a loss.

 

Castiel sighed. “You two should stay here. Together. Until we figure out what this all means.”

 

Dean and Eliza both nodded. “Let’s get a shower,” Dean said, clasping her hand in his. “And I guess I should _shave_.” He shot Sam a teasing glare before he and Eliza left the kitchen.

 

“Cas,” Sam said. “Is it possible that this could be a good thing?” Sam hoped, for all of their sakes, that the growing connection between his brother and the strange new woman in their lives wasn’t a harbinger to bad.

 

Castiel stared at the door where Dean and his companion had just exited. “I suppose anything’s possible,” he answered. “But,” he turned to face Sam. “It’s unlikely.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These idiots finally figure out wtf is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I lied. 1) This is set firmly in s10 post-Demon Dean and 2) we’re gonna go a little AU here, even though I said we wouldn’t. Sorry, friends.
> 
> Also, this chap is short, but I’ve got everything outlined, so we’ll have another update this week.

**The Descendants’ Blade (AKA the Jackal knife that Mayor Wilkins gave Faith in S3 of BTVS.)**

****

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“Oh, my_ god _, Dean...”_

 

_Dean’s twisted her and himself and the sheets into so many positions in the last few hours that Eliza doesn’t know which way is up anymore. She’s not even sure what day it is._

 

_All she knows is that she’s face down on Dean Winchester’s memory foam and he’s taking her to a whole other level of fucking. Again. He pitches her hips so he’s hitting that spot hard and repeatedly and the sounds he’s making chill and thrill her._

 

“Guys?” Sam called to his research partners. “I think I got somethin’.”

 

Sam and Castiel had physically separated Dean and Eliza earlier in the day, Sam dragging Dean with him to one side of the library and Cas sitting Eliza down with her back to Dean and Sam. She tried flirting with Cas to distract and amuse herself and to see if she could make an angel blush. Flustered, yes; blushing, no.

 

When Castiel and Eliza joined Sam and Dean at the opposite end of the library, Eliza was immediately light-headed by what she assumed was the close proximity of Dean - or, rather, The Mark. Her hand immediately ran across the expanse of his shoulders over his denim shirt and without missing a beat, Dean twisted toward her and dragged her into his lap.

 

“So, get this,” Sam started. “Turns out Eliza’s branch of the Cain family tree may be an antidote.”

 

_“Sonufabitch,” Dean grunts through gritted teeth as he pounds into her, straddling her thighs, keeping her tight as possible, pinning her to the mattress, meaty fingers digging into her ass and hips where he’s already left deep bruises, sweat dripping from his brow and pooling in the small of her back._

 

_She’s come so many times in so many days - especially in these last hours - that she can’t even count and she’s utterly drained, emotionally and physically. These last few rounds, Eliza’s been passive as Dean takes her over and over. Biologically no man should be able to fuck this much, but magic is a powerful thing._

 

“An antidote,” Dean echoed, his hands roaming and searching her body where she sat in his lap. Eliza unthinkingly opened her legs and Dean’s hand slid up the inside as her hand massaged and scratched his scalp.

 

“ _P_ _ossible_ antidote,” Sam replied, clearly agitated by their persistent public display of affection. “I still don’t have all the pieces, but...”

 

Eliza shot Dean a look and Dean shrugged, never taking his hands off her. She had never heard that part of the equation before. She knew they were connected and that her ancestors had tried to keep an eye on Cain and The Mark, but no idea that they were a potential cure.

 

Eliza sighed. “I dunno, Sammy,” she shook her head. “If that shit‘s true, why wouldn’t I know about it?”

 

_This moment is somewhere else in space and time, a gossamer curtain of desire and a singular drive toward that ultimate gratification divides them from reality, but she fears they’ll never really get there, or maybe it doesn’t exist._

 

_“Baby,” her voice is barely a whisper. They’ve slept so little in the days they’ve known each other, only when they pass out from exhaustion; and Dean always wakes her up with his cock or fingers or tongue. “Lemme up.”_

 

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Is there anything that sounds remotely familiar about what I’m saying?”

 

Eliza shook her head, her brow creasing as she glanced down at Dean. “I can’t think of anything,” she shrugged. “I’m really sorry.”

 

“S’ok,” Sam said, looking back at the text, defeated and worn, flipping pages in silence for a few moments before stopping and sitting bolt upright. “The Descendants’ Blade,” he mutters.

 

“What?” Cas asked, speaking up for the first time in several minutes. “What did you say?”

 

_Dean’s thrusts stutter and slow. He’s painfully hard and the feeling of pulling out of her has him on the verge of sobbing. He rolls to his back, throws an arm across his eyes and grips his dick hard._

 

_Eliza slowly rolls away from him with a groan. She can see Dean roughly jerk his cock with his tight fist. She takes a few moments to catch her breath before rolling back into his side, resting her head on his chest and running her small hand down over his belly to his groin._

 

“This blade,” Sam’s voice was suddenly revived and excited. He spun the book around to show the three on the other side of the table the image and the accompanying text. “Is it possible that-”

 

“That’s my blade,” Eliza said, sliding from Dean’s lap to stand, hands splayed on either side of the tome, scanning the page in disbelief. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “This is... holy shit.”

 

Dean peeked around her to study the page as well. “Damn, baby,” he said, his hand creeping up under the back of her tank top. “That’s a blade, all right.”

 

_“Fuck,” his voice is hoarse and desperate. “I need...” Dean gasps when she wraps her hand around his hard length._

 

_“I know, baby,” she says, stroking him slow and steady. Dean holds her close with one arm, letting his other hand fall open beside his head. “I’m gonna take care of you,” she whispers as she slides down his body until she’s between his thighs._

 

“It was my great-grandpop’s,” she spoke quietly, taking the seat next to Dean, bringing the book with her to study it further. “They said he forged it himself. This...” She looked up at Sam. “This says that... it was forged to sever The Mark?” Eliza was questioning reality more than her reading comprehension, but Sam nodded, anyway. “I... why wouldn’t they _tell_ me?”

 

Dean reached for the book and pulled it out of her hands. He slid the book across the table to Sam with a pointed look. “Liza,” Dean said her name quietly, gently as he turned his seat to face her and leaned forward, taking her hands in his. “Baby, where’s the blade now?”

 

Eliza looked up at Dean, a pained expression marring her beautiful face. She took a deep breath. “In my jacket,” she answered simply. “I’ve had it the whole time.” The little crease between her brow was the bane of Dean’s existence, as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want her to be mad, sad, or scared, ever.

 

_Eliza slides her hands along the insides of Dean’s thighs, pushing him open then gripping his hardened cock. “Stay open for me, baby,” she says, dipping her head to lick the underside of him from base to tip. Dean doesn’t hesitate - he lifts his legs and opens them by the backs of his knees._

 

_And then she’s licking lower. She’s rubbing and spitting and then she’s pushing a finger inside him and swallowing his cock, ripping an animalistic, guttural moan from Dean’s lips. “Unnggg, fuck me,” Dean grunts and thrusts onto her finger. “More,” he gasps and his abdominal muscles are clenching wildly with each thrust._

 

Dean looked to Sam and Cas and Eliza followed his gaze. “Find out how we ‘sever The Mark’,” Dean told Sam. Sam nodded in agreement, flicking his gaze to Eliza’s troubled face. “Cas, find Crowley. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

 

Castiel also nodded. “Dean,” he said, as Dean stood, bringing Eliza to her feet with him. “Perhaps you two should...” he paused. “Rest.”

 

“Way ahead of ya, Cas,” Dean replied clasping Eliza’s hand in his and heading for the dorm rooms. “Lemme know when ya find somethin’.”

 

_Eliza pushes another finger inside him and angles them so she’s brushing his prostate, rough and slow. He fucks her throat deep and hard and she fucks his ass just as well._

 

_Dean’s voice is unrecognizable, he’s muttering and whimpering and chanting. When Eliza pushes a third finger inside him and twists, he’s sobbing nonsense into the cool air of his bunker bedroom and coming on her tongue and down her throat, hot and salty._

 

When they reached Dean’s room, Eliza made a beeline for her jacket and immediately produced the blade. She examined it with suspicion and betrayal in her eyes, but also love, loyalty.

 

“That’s it, huh?” Dean asked, sitting on the edge of his bed not even an arm’s length from where she stood.

 

Eliza shot him a look and he threw his hands up in defense. “I didn’t mean _that’s it_  like it’s nothin’,” he said. “I meant... never mind.” He shook his head and she went back to her inspection. “It’s a thing of beauty, is what it is,” he said and her face lit up with pride.

 

_Eliza collapses over him and his breathing begins to steady. She lays her head over his heart and tangles their legs together. Within minutes he’s snoring softly and Eliza sighs._

 

_It isn’t much longer before she’s fading into darkness with him._

 

“This’s gonna hafta be your choice, sweetheart,” Dean said, watching her closely. Her bloodline was tied to Cain from the beginning, but he didn’t want her to think that she was obliged to save _him_. “It’s your blade and your family’s legacy.” Dean shook his head. “Can’t factor me into this.”

 

Eliza looked into his eyes, that crease deep in her brow again and fire in her honey eyes. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me right now?” Dean was suddenly speechless. He sat up straight, ready to argue when he found the words, hands braced on his knees. “Winchester, we’re in this together whether we like it or not,” she said. “And to be honest, I like it.” She challenged him with a stare down.

 

Two beats passed and Dean cracked into a full grin and laugh, shaking his head. When he met her gaze again his eyes softened and she smiled, tilting her head. “I like it, too,” he said, their heated connection rolling to a boil in his belly. “Stow that thing and get over here.”

 

Eliza looked at her blade again, curiously. “Sure ya don’t wanna play with it a little?” She said waving the blade seductively under her nose, the low light in the room glinting off the sharp steel. She felt the pull of The Mark and there was something so erotic about his reaction to her blade, she wanted to push it a little.

 

Dean swallowed thickly. He really wanted to play with it, but... “Stow it, baby,” he repeated. “And get your ass over here.”

 

Eliza kept her eyes on Dean as she slid the blade back into its holster in her jacket then climbed over him on the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks and kisses to Glass_Jacket and marksmanfem for being my Castiels.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we get off (har-har) folks. Eliza has to go home and Dean has to be Dean. Thanks for reading and for being patient for this final installment. Peace!

The Descendants' Knife [ ](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1d/86/95/1d8695709f6ca0b02a8b4643aa95054f.jpg)

The First Blade

 

* * *

 

“So…” Eliza’s brow was fully creased in question as she glanced at the men surrounding her. “You’re friends. With the King of Hell.” 

When Dean had told her who Crowley was and briefed her on their complicated history she had remained fairly indifferent. There wasn’t much that surprised her in her line of work. When the red-eyed demon showed up in the bunker library, however, she was slightly surprised at how at ease, almost chummy, they all were. 

“I wouldn’t say  _ friends _ ,” Sam said with a cringe.

“ _ Best _ friends,” Crowley asserted with an arched brow.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Crowley, do you have the crap we need or not?”

“So impatient, Squirrel,” Crowley chastised, producing a small bag from the inside pocket of his overcoat and dropping it to the table before turning to approach Eliza. “I haven’t even been properly introduced to this lovely new addition to Team Free Will.” He eyed Eliza with interest and she arched a brow. “She’s even prettier than you, Dean.” Crowley took her hand in his, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it, lingering, holding her gaze.

Eliza chuckled. “Smooth,” she said with a head tilt, openly checking him out. “Guess it’s no secret how you got to be king, huh?”

“Oh, darling, I could tell you stories,” Crowley smirked, still holding her hand.

“I bet,” she laughed.

“Okay, are you flirting? With  _ Crowley _ ?” Dean asked, incredulous. Then he held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know. Cas, double check that we have everything we need for the spell, would ya?”

The room was a flurry of movement, then – all but Crowley, who watched Eliza and Dean dance around one another, drawing each other in and touching light. He was curious about the girl, but even more curious about what she was to Dean and what Dean was to her. It was clear that there was something between them, and the thought of what it was exactly further piqued Crowley’s interest.

Dean linked his fingers with Eliza’s and pulled her into his side as he browsed the necessary texts to take with them. She stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear before latching onto its lobe with her teeth in a playful nip and sliding her hand under his t-shirt. Dean turned his face toward her and then they were kissing, abandoning their task at hand.

Crowley shot a look to Castiel and Sam, each of them looking downtrodden and helpless. Disbelief colored the demon’s face before he cleared his throat loudly, earning him the very edge of the couple’s attention.

“Darling,” Crowley called, hoping to distract Eliza’s from Dean, and it worked. He gave her a placating smile as he crafted his next words. “As much as I’d love to be front and center for you and your boy toy’s live sex show, we haven’t the time.”

Eliza shifted uncomfortably, and Dean dropped his hand from where it was gripping Eliza’s elbow, none too lightly. “Watch your mouth,” Dean growled.

“For the love of my hounds, am I the only one in this room who respects the physics of time?” 

“I’m not arguing,” Castiel replied, garnering looks to kill from Dean and Eliza and an eye roll from Sam.

Dean set his eyes back on his companion. “I hate to agree with this pompous pile of dicks, but,” he hesitated, regret clouding his eyes as they focused on hers. “At least three of the ingredients for this spell have a shelf life of, like, 12 hours. We gotta get movin’.” 

Eliza sighed and nodded, then shot Crowley a scowl as if it was his fault that they had such little time. To that, Crowley responded with an indignant huff. 

“I’ll pack up,” Sam said, getting the team back on track. “Eliza, wanna help?”

Eliza reluctantly dragged her gaze from Dean’s movements to meet Sam’s eyes. “Yeah,” she replied, nodding slowly, looking a bit dazed. “Sure, yeah.”

Dean pulled her in for a quick kiss to her temple, then. “I’m gonna get Baby ready for the trip,” he muttered before releasing her and shooting Crowley a nasty look.

Crowley smirked then turned his attention to Eliza and the younger Winchester as they packed books and the spell ingredients. Once they’d carefully zipped the packed bag shut and it was set aside, Sam announced that he was going to pack his bag and check on Dean, leaving Eliza and Crowley alone, but for Castiel who was re-reading about the Descendent Blade, ensuring they hadn’t missed anything.

Assured that Castiel was sufficiently distracted, Crowley crossed the room and focused on Eliza once again. “What is it with you two?” he asked quietly, leaning against the bookshelf in front of her.

Eliza didn’t answer right away, but he could see that she heard the question. She seemed to be weighing her answer carefully. “The Mark,” Eliza answered simply, keeping her voice low to match his, and her eyes on her hands as she shelved the volumes they’d decided to leave behind.

Crowley tilted his head and continued to study her. “You’re a descendant?” he wondered aloud, and she nodded slowly, her shoulders tensing slightly. There was more, so he attempted to fill in the blanks. “You’re of  _ the _ descendants.”

Her eyes flicked to the side to briefly meet his. “You know?” she asked, hazarding a glance at Castiel. “About the antidote?”

Crowley shook his head in answer. She wasn’t sure if she should believe him – not that it mattered now that they finally knew and had a plan. “I’ve only ever heard rumblings of a possible line of descendants who could –  _ maybe _ – somehow reverse the Mark’s effects on its bearer.”

She turned to face him fully and crossed her arms over her chest. “That woulda been good information to have, like. a week ago.”

Crowley shrugged and stood straight to meet her eyes. “How was I to know?”

“You weren’t,” she sighed. “You couldn’t – never mind. It doesn’t matter.” 

He narrowed his eyes and she squirmed. He watched her busy her hands again with the books and the facts were clear, but he liked to peel the onion slowly.

“Your mere presence calms the incessant pull and burn of the Mark,” he said, and she nodded in agreement. “And,” he leaned back against the pillar, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I’d venture to guess that your…  _ touch _ does even more to soothe his quandary.”

Eliza stopped what she was doing, sighed heavily and peered up at the ceiling. “That’s about the size of it, Sparky.” She turned her gaze on him again, and surprisingly found something close to compassion.

“You’re in love with him,” Crowley stared into her eyes, and she flinched, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she shrugged.

“Overrated emotion, if you ask me,” she said, remaining aloof.

“Well,” Crowley paused, studying her further. “Take care that your…  _ emotions _ don’t get the better of you, love.” She held his gaze. “We’re all invested in this operation.”

After a few beats, Eliza pursed her lips and nodded. “Copy that,” she answered then turned on her heels and left the room.

 

* * *

 

Eliza was relieved that Crowley didn’t ride with them to the farm. His keen observations had her squirming in her boots and she didn’t like it. She had feelings for Dean, there was no denying that, but there was no sense in discussing or exploring it. Once they killed Cain, she was gone – end of story.

When they reached their destination, they climbed out of the Impala as Crowley appeared from thin air. Eliza wondered what Crowley had to gain from knowing about her feelings for Dean. She had to focus on Cain first and foremost, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have an eye on Crowley.

“Liza, you and me’ll take the perimeter,” Dean said, checking his pocket for the Blade just as Eliza checked for her own. “Sammy, you and these two get the spell ready.” Dean didn’t really need to check for the Blade – he was glaringly aware of its location at all times – but the habit was a comfort of sorts.  

“Got it,” Sam answered, already organizing his supplies.

Dean nodded and turned to head toward the barn with Eliza at his side.

“Crowley knows more than he’s tellin’ us,” Eliza spoke abruptly but quietly. Waiting to tell Dean her discovery about Crowley was grueling, but she hadn’t wanted to alarm the rest of the group with the knowledge she’d gleaned earlier in the afternoon.

“How d’you know?” Dean asked without missing a beat.

“He knew about the antidote in my bloodline,” she answered, and Dean shot her an arched eyebrow. “He told me.” Dean nodded and came to a stop then turned to look down at her fully. “He’s also  _ real _ curious about you and me.”

Dean scoffed at that. “Yeah, well,” he pulled a wry smirk. “Crowley’s always been a lot more interested in what I do with my dick that he should be.”

Eliza laughed. “Why does that not surprise me?”

Dean shook his head. “Right?” He quickly scanned their surroundings. “Okay, we’ll talk more about this after.” They each nodded with deep breaths. “Let’s take this fucker down so we can celebrate later.” He smiled at her and winked, and she grinned. “Just like we talked about.”

“Let’s do it,” she said and they parted ways.

Eliza rounded the back of the barn scanning and ensuring the perimeter was secure before scaling the side of the building and rolling into the hayloft. She scurried through the rafters until she could hear Dean and Cain below her. Dean was confronting Cain, and she could feel the tension from several feet above them.

When they began to fight, Eliza sent up a silent prayer for strength and focus. She watched and listened as Cain told Dean that it was no use to fight the pull of the Mark. He told Dean that there was no cure, and she could tell that Cain was lying through his teeth. 

She felt his malintent and the war in Dean’s mind and fought to endure that war as both tore at her. As Cain’s words shredded Dean’s psyche, she felt it in her soul. Cain’s telekinetic power and his supernatural strength were unaffected by the Devil’s Trap, but Eliza was able to remain behind the veil that hid her presence from him. 

Just when Cain had Dean on his knees and was about to deal the killing blow, Eliza dropped from the rafters, knocking Cain aside and Dean prone in a bed of hay and dust. Eliza threw a roundhouse kick to Cain’s face and he fell to the ground, sliding through the debris. Then she straddled him, raised her blade high in the air, and sunk the blade alongside his sternum straight through his heart.

 

* * *

 

Out of all the times he’d been inside her, he’d never really felt  _ her _ . They’d had a mystical connection that had intensified with every stroke, every breath, every nip and lick. That connection had become its own entity, overshadowing who he was and who she was, redefining reality in a way that he had come to rely on as his new normal. 

“Fuck,” she whispered as her back arched, pressing her soft breasts into his chest. He was above her, looking down on her as if it were the first time he’d seen her or touched her; that thought couldn’t be further from the truth and the fact of it broke him a little bit. 

He’d spent seven days with her, inside her, tasting her, fucking her every possible way known to man – and demon. Yet it was that sliver of a moment, watching her take down Cain, graceful as a lioness and her prey, that gave him the full picture of who she really was. She was a woman in her own right, whole and courageous, full of passion and strength, and god, she was beautiful.

“Dean,” she breathed, her honey eyes dark with want and longing. 

He pressed his lips to her throat, open and wet, pushed up onto his hands and slowly slid inside her. He sighed loud and long, dropping his forehead to hers as she brought her legs up around his hips. “This’s real, right here,” he whispered, waiting for her eyes, then holding her gaze until she nodded in agreement, her brow beginning to crease. He shook his head and dipped in to kiss the frustration away for them both.

They’d killed Cain, the Mark was vanquished, and the magical amplification of their connection languished accordingly. Crowley had watched with undisguised fascination when Eliza dragged Dean’s limp form from the barn, the previously more than obvious heady charge between them dwindling, leaving behind simple care and concern. Dean was satisfied that Crowley’s interest in he and Eliza’s relationship was benign, if annoying as fuck. 

Dean moved in and out and around, and Eliza gripped his shoulders, licking inside his mouth and pulling his soft, curved top lip between her own full lips. Neither of them was going to let go easily. Just because The Mark had been severed didn’t mean they were immune to each other; it didn’t mean they could just forget.

It took longer for her to come, longer than the ever-looming orgasms he’d grown used to feeling from her, but he wouldn’t argue because it felt good just to _really_ _feel her_. There was a layer removed, giving him access to all of her – her unique smell, her taste, every change in her pitch and tone along the way – and it was almost too much. 

Yet, the sounds and movements she made when she finally came spurred him on. He wanted to hear more, wanted to give and take more.

Once her breathing steadied, he pulled out of her body. He was hard and wanting, but no longer drowning in the painful, maddening need he’d had so desperately mere hours before. He slowly slid down her body, memorizing every inch and curve until he was at her feet, sitting back on his own, stroking her skin and listening to her sighs.

“You’re too far away, Winchester,” she said, sounding wistful, reaching for him.

Dean took her hand in one of his and with the other he clasped his fingers around one ankle, lifting it to kiss her arch, the top of her foot, her ankle, her shin, knee, the inside of her thigh. He hovered over her cunt, that leg draping his shoulder as he braced his weight on his forearms and kissed and licked her soft belly. His mouth wandered down and down until he could lick her where she was wet and smelled like sex – hers and his.

His tongue was flat but firm against her damp skin and along her slit. He pushed his legs out behind him, feet dangling off the foot of the bed, her hips cradled in his hands, so he could savor her. He took it slow and easy, licking her skin, kissing the tender insides of her thighs, dipping his tongue inside her cunt on each pass.

She rested her feet on his shoulders, and he kept her lips spread with his thumbs, his thick fingertips tipping her pelvis at just the right angle for his access. He moaned and sighed into her, latching onto her clit with his full lips as he snaked one big hand from under her to press over her lower belly and finger her clit. He shouldered her thigh then thrust his thick tongue inside her.

“Shit,” she huffed, breathlessly as he fucked her with his tongue, his teeth scraping over her clit. She pushed up into his mouth and gripped his closely cropped hair with her fingers, sliding her other hand behind his head, fingering the fine hair at the nape of his neck. He hissed when she twisted the soft, dark blonde tuft on top of his head and blew puffs of air across her wet, sensitive skin. His gaze flicked up to see her smiling, eyes rolled back, and neck arched.

He had her right on the edge again but backed off. Splaying his hand over her belly and letting her hips down onto the bed. She wasn’t meek or mild, she wasn’t a delicate flower, but Dean wanted to be sure that nothing would ever hurt her.

“Look at me,” he said, and she did. He held her dark eyes with his, slowly stroking the curve of her belly with one hand. “You ever need anything. At all.” He gave her a pointed look as he dropped his lips to her wet slit for a kiss.

Eliza drew a shaky breath and nodded. “You too,” she said, closing her eyes when he returned to his ministrations with greater intensity. He pushed her legs up and open wide to lick her from ass to clit, circling then dipping inside her cunt, sealing his lips around her and sucking. “Dean,” she whispered.

He held her open, his fingers wrapped around the backs of her knees, pressing them to the mattress on either side of her torso, and Eliza stretched her arms above her head, doing that cat stretch he’d come to know and appreciate. She really was the embodiment of sex – but that wasn’t the only reason he’d miss her.

He made her come again, this time on his tongue, then pulled her up by her wrist, settled back on his haunches and helped her to straddle his lap. “I’m gonna miss this cock, that’s for sure,” she said with a grin, guiding him inside and bracing herself on her knees.

Then he snagged her eyes and they sat silent and still for a moment. “I’ll miss  _ you _ ,” she said, cradling his jaw in her hands. 

Dean nuzzled into one of her palms and closed his eyes. “Me too,” he said, and she began to move.

 

* * *

 

The door to the Uber slammed shut and the car rolled away from Sam and Dean. Sam silently pondered what had transpired overnight between the departing female hunter and his brother – other than the obvious.  

“We got each other on speed dial,” Dean broke the silence, a distant smile playing on his lips.

Sam’s own lips twisted into a soft smile as he watched his brother wave goodbye to another woman he surely loved. “And if she calls?” Sam asked, having a feeling he knew the answer.

Dean shrugged. “Cas’ll beam me to Boston,” Dean answered plainly, catching Sam’s eye before turning to walk to the Impala.

Sam stood and watched the car that carried Eliza away until he couldn’t watch it anymore, wondering if they would ever have a life approaching normal.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to marksmanfem and to Glass_Jacket for their pom-poms, unconditional love, and never-ending wits. I love you glitches with all my heart and soul. xox

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks and all my love to Glass_Jacket for the pom-poms.


End file.
